


Dreams of Darkness

by rpickman



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Alessa has a penis, Anxiety Attacks, Cunnilingus, Depression, Dream Sex, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, F/F, F/M, Futanari, Hate Sex, Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Self-cest, Silent Hill Is weird that way, Tentacle Sex, clitoris turning into dick, girl with dickgirl, group/rough sex fantasy, is it self-cest?, there's like three of her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-07-19 12:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19974451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rpickman/pseuds/rpickman
Summary: A Silent Hill 3 fanwork set a few years after the events of the game. Heather is trying to keep her life together and deal with her past trauma. After running out of her meds, her dark dreams begin.





	1. Ch 1 Dreams of Darkness

Heather stood in a small pool of light outside of the university’s AV building, staring nervously at the empty parking lot lit only by a few elderly, flickering sodium lamps. Although winter had technically ended weeks ago the nights were still cold and wet here but the weather wasn’t what was causing her hesitation. She had an animation assignment due in a few days and her cheap laptop would have taken forever to render things. Working on it in the school’s computer lab had taken hours and she’d lost track of time. While she was working darkness had fallen and everyone else had already left for the night. 

Heather pulled her hood up and fiddled with the zipper on her coat. She knew that she was hesitating but the thin mist spreading across the parking lot caused her heart to race. In her head, she knew that it was nothing out of the ordinary for this time of year and that it was only a ten-minute walk to her dorm. But that didn’t stop her palms from sweating and her stomach from tying itself into knots. 

She took a deep breath and picked a random number and started doubling it. It was a trick taught to her by a therapist…they had eventually given up trying to help her but she at least found this technique useful. _Seven. Fourteen. Twenty-Eight. Fifty-Six. One Hundred and Twelve_. She kept going until she passed ten thousand, the math keeping her from imagining unseen threats lurking in the fog. Once her breathing and heart-rate slowed she reached into her pocket, feeling a familiar, comforting weight there and pulling it out. 

It was a small radio. Her _first_ radio had been a bulky, decades-old device that broke a few weeks after she found it. As soon as she realized it wasn’t working she purchased a new one and kept it, and a pack of spare batteries, on her at all times. This one was a slim, black pocket model, complete with a pair of earbuds. She popped one into her left ear and turned the radio on.

When she heard the sound of terrible, mass-produced bubblegum pop, clear and without distortion, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized that she’d been holding. With the radio playing in her ear, she started counting again. 

_Seventeen_.

Heather stepped out of the pool of light around the entrance to the building and started to walk briskly through the parking lot. 

_Thirty-Four._

Heather froze when she saw a figure standing, eerily still in the distance under the light of a street-lamp. But the panic only lasted a second until the figure moved and she could make out a student talking quietly on their cell phone. 

_Sixty-Eight._

She rounded a corner and could see her building, the area lit by the light pouring from the windows of the student dorms. Heather couldn’t help but seek out her window, imagining the possibility of a figure silhouetted against the light from the room. Fortunately, the window was empty. 

_One-Hundred and Thirty-Six._

Heather swiped her ID card and hurriedly stepped into the dorm. She walked straight past the elevator…stairways could be stressful but _that_ was unthinkable. 

_Two-Hundred and Seventy-Two._

She cranked up the volume on her radio to drown out the echoing sound of her footsteps in the empty stairwell. She steeled herself…a few months ago a storm had cut the power while she was in the stairwell. When another student found her there in the dark Heather had beaten her almost unconscious with her book-bag. 

_Five-Hundred and Forty-Four._

She was on her floor now and couldn’t help but break into a jog. Almost there. Almost safe. 

_One-Thousand and Eighty-Eight._

She stopped, key in hand, just in front of her door. She couldn’t push aside the image of someone or something waiting for her inside. Her hand trembled on the wood of the door as she held the key just outside the lock. The radio continued to play chipper music in her ear about girl power and cute boys. 

_Two-Thousand, One-Hundred and Seventy-Six._

_Four-Thousand, Three-Hundred and Fifty-Two._

_Eight-Thousand, Seven-Hundred and Four._

Her indecision was broken by the sound of footsteps down the hall. She jammed the key home and yanked the door open. She slammed it closed behind her and leaned against it, slowly sliding to her knees. She kept counting as her breath came in huge, desperate gulps. As far as panic attacks go, this was one of the bad ones. 

Desperate, she crawled towards her bed and reached underneath, pulling out a dented aluminum baseball bat. She would have preferred a shotgun, but the school would have gone nuts if it was found. Clutching the bat to her she crawled to a corner where she could see both the doorway and the window at the same time. 

The room was empty. Her last roommate had requested a transfer three months ago and most of the previous ones didn't even last that long. The administration wasn't willing to address Heather's "eccentricities" for fear of being painted as unsympathetic to mental illness, so they just quietly accepted any transfer requests once her roommates became fed up. This didn't usually take long between Heather's night terrors, panic attacks and antisocial behavior. 

Heather stayed huddled in the corner for almost ten minutes, counting higher and higher until she finally regained control of her breathing and stopped imagining what could be shambling through the hallways. Still holding the bat she started to climb to her feet, her knees shaking.

That’s when new feelings hit her, arousal washing over her in a hot wave. Her jacket was suddenly stifling and she could feel her bra and shirt tight over her breasts. It felt like her jeans and panties were digging into her crotch and she could already tell that her underwear was soaked through. It had been like this for over a year now. Each panic attack followed by this uncontrollable craving. She quickly stripped her jacket off and yanked her shirt over her head, trying to escape the heat of her own body. Her face and neck were flushed and it quickly spread to the top of her breasts, her hard nipples were outlined by the fabric of her bra. 

For the first couple of years after her father’s death and her…experiences, she had isolated herself and had no social life to speak of. After finally getting into college (a tragic experience looks great on transcripts) she had promised herself that she wouldn’t let the past keep her from experiencing the present anymore. She tried making friends, tried socializing and even went to a senior party with a cute boy from one of her life-drawing classes. 

The two of them had a few drinks and she let him guide her upstairs to an unoccupied bedroom. With the obnoxious bass thumping through the floorboards the two of them fumbled with one another. She giggled as he pawed clumsily at her breasts and kissed him, ignoring the sour taste of beer on his tongue as he stuck it into her mouth. He had no technique or finesse but she was equally inexperienced and just was just drunk and horny enough to go along with it. There was a moment’s hesitation when he unzipped his pants and flopped out his semi-hard dick but she managed to talk herself into attempting a blowjob.

She had knelt by the edge of the bed, holding his dick in her hands while he mumbled something about how hot she was. He was uncut and as she peeled the foreskin back she could see the glisten of pre-cum leaking from the tip. She leaned in to give it an experimental lick but then the smell hit her. It wasn’t that it was dirty or foul…but it brought with it a wave of memories.

She remembered the Central Square mall, an old haunt of hers transformed into a decayed mockery, smeared in blood and bile and filled with horrors. Her path had led her to become trapped in a pit somewhere in the bowels of the building, clutching a handgun and covered in blood. The ground shook and one of the metal fences was torn free, revealing the most terrifying and massive creature she had ever seen: a gigantic, serpentine worm. The huge beast’s head split apart, skin folding back obscenely to reveal a disturbingly human-like set of teeth that drooled streamers of clear slime. As she backed away in horror, fumbling desperately to reload with inexperienced fingers, the smell of the thing hit her like a wave. 

It was the same scent she smelled that night in some stranger’s bedroom trying to impress some drunk frat boy with her non-existent sexual talents. Her screams were loud enough to alert the entire party and she had smashed the confused boy in the head with a nearby desk lamp. At first, everyone had assumed she was the victim of a date-rapist but she eventually managed to convince the police not to arrest him, showing them her purse full of prescription bottles. She never went to a party after that. 

Back in the present, she leaned against the small sink set into one wall of her dorm and fumbled for one of those prescription bottles while rubbing desperately at the front of her jeans with the other hand. She finally managed to pop open the childproof cap one-handed, but then her trembling fingers slipped and the bottle dropped right into the sink. 

“Fuck! No! Please, No!” She scrabbled desperately for the bottle but still couldn’t bring herself to tear the other hand away from her pussy.

“Shit!!” She screamed as the pills disappeared down the drain. She had been taking more than normal recently and was still days away from her next refill. The stream of frustrated cussing turned into desperate, animal noises as she curled up on the floor. The stress was also magnifying the desperate heat in her cunt and she fumbled at her zipper, pulling her pants halfway down her thighs and shoving her hand down the front of her panties. She groped through her pubic hair, already damp and matted, and her questing fingers found her hot, wet slit. 

Her fingers worked desperately up and down her clit, rough enough to hurt but each swipe also sent a tight surge through her pelvis. She hated herself in moments like this, but stopping would be completely impossible. She tried to spread her legs wider but they were still tangled in her jeans and pulling them down further would mean taking her fingers away from her cunt. 

Several minutes of this left her panting, her body jerking with the need to cum but the climax was just out of her reach. Just grinding away at her clit wasn’t enough…she needed something deeper, harder. For a moment the baseball bat flashed through her imagination but she had enough self-control not to try that. Instead, she reached further down, pushing her middle and index finger into her wet pussy up to the second knuckle. She felt her body respond immediately, clenching around her fingers as she tried to push them further inside. 

Heather curled her body forward, letting her arms reach further and with her free hand, she reached underneath her bra, finding her erect nipple. She pinched it between her fingers and pulled, putting just enough pressure on it that it began to hurt, the sensation increased the intensity of her cunt’s contractions. She wriggled her fingers, digging them deeper inside until she found the lump of her G-spot. She desperately worked her fingers within the tight, wet tunnel in a circular motion. Her breathing was becoming ragged and her cunt gripped her fingers even tighter.

When the orgasm hit Heath let out a harsh, involuntary sound half-way between a gasp and a yell, it was bestial and devoid of grace. The sound of a rutting animal. She bit her lip to stifle further sounds as more waves of pleasure hit her, rolling from her pelvis up her body and crashing over her head, leaving her dizzy, exhausted and spent. 

For several minutes she just lay there. Her pants bunched around her knees, panties wet and tangled and her breasts pressed against the cold linoleum floor. Eventually, she gathered her thoughts enough to kick her pants off and climb to her feet, almost slipping on the wet spot she had been laying in. All of her muscles were stiff and she was completely spent by fear and lust. It was all she could do to stumble over to her bed, collapsing on the rumbled sheets without even turning off the lights. 

Her radio lay forgotten in the pocket of her jacket, the tinny stream of pop music still playing through the earbuds. As Heather began to drift off to sleep the music began to distort and stutter, devolving into a stream of hissing static.

**************

Heather’s dreams were rarely pleasant. She knew this because it wasn’t uncommon for her to wake up soaked in sweat, screaming or even violently thrashing at her bedding. The one blessing was that her medication prevented her from remembering them, so whatever horrors visited her in the night would stay there. 

But as soon as she found herself in the dream, Heather knew that tonight would be different. She could feel a cold certainty that she would remember every moment of what happened to her tonight. She was standing on a floor of dirty concrete tile, covered in unidentifiable stains and several deep, long gouges. Above her hung a lone light fixture, swaying gently on a wire that extended upwards towards an unseen ceiling. The bulb emits a stuttering electrical buzz and its dim, failing bulb only managed to provide a circle of light a few feet wide. Everything beyond was pitch-black.

Heather looked down at herself and briefly her fear was replaced with confusion. She wasn’t wearing any of her usual outfits. Instead, she seemed to be dressed in some sort of colorful cosplay outfit. The top was skin-tight spandex so thin that it was practically painted on, revealing every curve and outline underneath. Her chest was decorated with a bright pink heart, just below a plunging neckline that revealed most of her modest cleavage. Around her waist was a pink belt with a heart-shaped buckle that held up a skirt of flimsy fabric, short enough that she could immediately tell that there was no underwear underneath. 

The ensemble was completed by a pair of bright blue boots, red gloves, and a massive pair of headphones covering both ears and topped with yellow, plastic spheres. It wasn’t until her hands found the heart-shaped choker at her neck that everything clicked and she began to recognize the ridiculous outfit. She still had that choker, tucked away in a chest of mementoes from the time before her father died. 

One of her favorite shows as a little kid was “Super Pretty Princess Maximum Heart”, one of those cheesy shows from Japan shown on Saturday mornings with bad actors overdubbing it with a terrible English translation. During her pre-teen years it was all she could talk about and so, for Halloween one year her dad put together a home-made Princess Heart costume for her from old sheets and scraps bought from Goodwill. She had refused to take it off for days, running around the house and firing her “HEATHER BEAMU!” at imaginary monsters. Of course, the outfit her father had given her had been far more modest. This version of the costume was practically cling-film. 

Before she could spend too long pondering the bizarre costume, the light fixture above began to flicker and dim. 

“No, no, no!” Heather reached for the light, a pointless gesture of desperation. “Please!”

With a final buzz, the light went out, leaving Heather in the dark. She was alone in an expanse of infinite darkness.

“Hello!” She shouted into the darkness. “Is anyone out there!?”

"Hello?"

There was no response. 

Heather reached out, stumbling blindly into the darkness. Perhaps she could find a light or a door or just a corner to huddle in. Anything. 

She stopped suddenly when the dull sounds of her boots on concrete were replaced by a soft clank of metal. She immediately retreated, hoping to find her way back by the sound. But even after taking several steps back the way she came she could only hear the rattle of metal. The sound was hauntingly familiar and she slowly lowered herself into a crouch, gloved fingers probing the ground under her feet. The gloves were just as thin and flimsy as the rest of the costume and she could easily feel the cold metal grate she was standing on. The metal seemed to be corroded and crusted with some kind of flaky gunk. 

There was a sudden gust of warm air, humid and thick with a metallic scent. The wind came from some unseen depths below, lifting her skirt and stirring her pubic hair with a disturbing intimacy. 

“No…” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, “Not back here. Not again.”

As though triggered by her realization there was a sudden sound in the darkness, the rumble of rusted machinery groaning to life. A series of dim red lights flicked on with the sound of old electrical relays slamming into position. The lights revealed an escalator, rising at least several stories into the darkness.

Heather appeared to be standing in the center of a long hallway. The floor was rusty metal grating, dented and torn in places, which seemed to be stretched over bottomless darkness. To her left and right the hallway was lined with decaying chain-link fence and on the other side of the fence were…people? They stood on the very edges of the dim light, just beyond the fence, and it was difficult to make out any details but their silhouette caused Heather’s heart to begin pounding even faster. 

Their bodies seemed human in shape and proportion but they each wore what appeared to be a large mask, like a mascot. A mask with large plastic eyes that glinted in the light and huge, rabbit ears. Heather had seen these masks in her dreams before, just before her father’s death and the living nightmare that followed. Her horrified fixation on the masks meant that it took her several seconds to realize that the people on the other side of the fence were wearing nothing other than their masks. The dim light made details difficult to make out but she could see that they were all men and appeared to be completely unmoving, standing just beyond the meager protection of the fence. 

She turned around, looking behind her but a few yards from where she stood she could see the floor simply ended in a ragged tear, as though the grating had been completely torn away by some incredible force. While she stared hopelessly into the darkness there was a sound to her right, a faint rattle of rusty metal. She spun towards the noise, and took an involuntary step backward…the same crowd of rabbit-masked men was standing on that side of the hall but now they were on her side of the chain-link fence. They made no other movement towards her, but she could see that they were breathing and that they swayed very slightly back and forth. 

Now that they were closer Heather could also see that they were each sporting large, intimidating erections. 

Heather’s first instinct was to run, to make a beeline for the escalator which seemed to be the only possible exit from this horrible place. But the rabbit-men were positioned all along this side of the hallway and if they lunged for her they would easily cut off any escape. Instead, she cast her eyes to the floor, looking for some kind of weapon to defend herself: a rusty bit of pipe, a heavy blunt object or even just a jagged bit of metal that could serve as an improvised knife. 

While searching fruitlessly for a weapon she heard the sound again…the same note of creaking metal as before. She turned her head slowly, her heart sinking further because she knew what would be behind her already. Sure enough, the rabbit-men from that side of the hall were now standing on her side of the fence. They were also standing still and each also pointed at her with their erect, aggressive cocks. 

Heather whipped her head back to the first group. They were closer now, at least five feet nearer with no sign that they had moved at all. They were close enough now that Heather could see their bodies were streaked with dark stains, made impossible to identify under the red light. Their physiques varied wildly…some were huge and muscular, others flabby or skinny. One was even an old man, at least a foot shorter than the others and covered in wrinkles. But all stood stock still with cocks firmly at attention and pointed right towards her. 

Heather was paralyzed. Having looked away from the ones behind her she knew without a doubt that if she looked back then she’d see they had also moved closer and then the ones in front of her now would likely move as soon as she looked away. But if she remained staring like this, would the rabbit-men behind her just continue to creep closer and closer until she looked? There was no way to watch both groups at once. Not daring to blink she stood trembling, eyes fixated on the row of men in front of her and her mind fixated on those behind her. 

Eventually, the stress became too much for Heather and she had to look, expecting to see grasping hands only inches away. They were closer now, just like the first group…perhaps a little closer. The very slender relief she felt that they were not mid-pounce quickly vanished when she felt a hot, damp breath on the back of her neck. It smelled foul and sweet, like a dumpster in the summertime: rotten soda, decaying food and hot metal. Heather spun around, instinct overwhelming any sort of rational decision-making. 

They were inches away now, so near that the one right in front of her was close enough for her to see through the mask’s mouth. There was no sign of human features, only a mass of indistinct flesh which bulged and rippled in the shadows of the mask. Its rigid cock was so close that she thought she could feel the obscene heat through the flimsy fabric covering her torso. She let out a thin, hoarse cry and stumbled backward, raising her hands in a desperate attempt at self-defense. However, before she could make any attempt to fend off the rabbit-men in front of her she felt her back slam into hot, sweaty flesh. The figures behind her had instantly closed the distance and now she was caught between both groups. 

“Fuck you!” Heather’s throat hurt with the intensity of her scream. She had fought horrors before and would not go quietly, “Fuck all of you! Leave me alone!”

She punctuated her words with blows from her fists. Although she had never been able to work up the courage to take any self-defense classes she was also surprisingly strong for her size. Shortly after her first nightmarish experience she had purchased a punching bag and would spend hours each week pummeling it with fists, feet and her baseball bat. It was a therapeutic experience and she had gone through a lot of bags since that first purchase. Even without finesse or skill, her blows would have easily knocked the wind from most men. 

They had no effect on these creatures. Her fists smacked uselessly against the chest of the nearest rabbit-man as though she were punching a slab of dead meat. No reaction at all. 

Despite that Heather did not ease off her flurry of blows and continued to pummel the man in front of her until her arms went limp, her energy completely spent. It was only then, with her limbs trembling from terror and exhaustion, that she realized that the rabbit-men were not coming any closer and had made no other movements at all. They stood motionless except for their breathing, the slight sway of their bodies and whatever was writhing underneath their masks.

Heather was now standing in between two long lines of rabbit-headed men standing on both sides of her. There was less than a yard of space between the two rows and it led all the way from where she stood to the base of the escalator. The array of erect cocks were close enough that she could barely avoid brushing against their tips as she stood in between the two groups. Her breathing was shaky as she tried to collect her thoughts, darting eyes looking out for any sign of movement from the rabbit-men. 

The escalator was the only obvious means of escape. Even if she had wanted to try leaping from the edge of the grating into the darkness, that route was now blocked by several of the rabbit-men. But there was also no telling what action might break the stasis and cause the creatures surrounding her to attack. Indecision kept her locked in place, trembling. 

_Three._

She began her counting ritual, grasping at anything that might help calm her racing mind. 

_Six_.

She needed to move. 

_Twelve_.

There was no telling whether staying still or moving would be more dangerous, but nothing would change if she didn’t move. 

_Twenty-Four_. 

She stepped gingerly forward, trying to avoid any contact with the rabbit-men. Especially the turgid pricks that lined her path. 

_Forty-Five. Fuck, no Forty-Eight_.

She struggled to calm her breathing, inching forward at a glacial pace. The escalator groaned and rattled and hardly seemed to be any closer. 

_Ninety_.

Heather bit her lip, trying to stay focused on her movement and not the cloying scent and heat of the figures on both sides of her.

_One-Hundred and Eighty._

_Wait, no it was…_

Another gust of wind rose up from below the grate. It blew her flimsy skirt up into the air and as the air brushed her skin Heather realized that there was a trickle of liquid flowing down her leg. She hadn’t realized it, but she was dripping wet. The thought made her want to vomit but she tried to shove it out of her mind and resume counting. 

_Two-Hundred…Two-Hundred…_

Before she could get her thoughts back on track she set one foot down and suddenly lost her balance. A small tear in the grate caused her to stumble and, trying to stay upright, she instinctively bent forward and found herself leaning fully against the bare chest of one of the rabbit-men. Her body convulsed in shock and her fingers tightened on the figure’s thick chest hair. Before she could come to her senses she froze in shock at a sudden, intrusive sensation. 

Leaning forward had caused her to thrust her ass out behind her and the wind had already lifted up her skirt, leaving her wet pussy exposed. Now there was the sensation of a hard, hot cock pressed against the swelling opening of her pussy. It was just far enough that she could feel the tip of it starting to part her lips.

She had never felt something like this before. Although aggressive masturbation had long ago torn through her hymen Heather was still technically a virgin. The one, disastrous attempt at the party was the first and last time she had ever seen a man’s dick in person. Now she could feel one throbbing against her wet cunt. There was no attempt to push it in any further, but for a second Heather imagined leaning back against it, feeling it push its hard length all the way inside of her, letting it stretch her open and fill her. 

That thought caused a sudden realization, a vision of absolute certainty. This is what would release the creatures around her. If she gave in and started to push the cock inside then its owner would spring into motion. His huge, stained hands would grab her by the waist and slam her backward, shoving his cock deep into her body. She would be unable to escape or resist as the rabbit-man jams his cock inside her again and again. Pain, shock and pleasure would cause her to gasp and this would cause the rabbit-man in front of her to leap into action, snatching her by the hair and shoving her face down towards its own cock, forcing it through her gaping lips and into her throat. 

In her mind, she saw and felt herself being used by these two creatures. Roughly. Violently. They would cum at almost the same time, filling her pussy with hot, sticky wetness and pouring foul-smelling cum down her throat. Then they would step back, leaving her to collapse, coughing up cum, to the ground. Their work was done but there would be dozens of others. The next would reach down and tear off the thin, ridiculous princess heart costume, exposing her breasts. She would crawl to her knees and try and crawl away, but that would simply leave her exposed. The rabbit-man would shove her face to the ground with one hand and use the other to lift her ass into the air. Maybe it would shove its cock deep into her asshole or maybe it would fuck her pussy again, saving her ass for one of its companions. The possibilities sprawled out before her in a stream of visions of wild, horrifying clarity.

As this ran through her head the most horrifying thing was her face. She could see, in her mind’s eye, that her face was locked into an expression of utter hunger and bliss. Her eyes rolled back as she was fucked by these creatures and as the barrage of brutal, rough sex continued she began to become an eager participant, lifting her ass and spreading her legs, reaching for the other cocks waiting in the wings to suck and stroke. She could see the lust and pleasure taking over her body and part of her wanted to feel it. Wanted to become that wild, mindless slut being fucked over and over again. All she had to do was to lean back, let the hard shaft slide up her slick cunt and it would all begin. The muscles of her legs and abdomen quivered, already on the edge of orgasm. 

It felt like forever, but Heather managed to regain control of her body and slowly, carefully withdrew from the hard, intrusive lump. Pulling away was a mixture of relief, disappointment and disgust. The rabbit-men made no move to stop or restrain her as she regained her footing. In a feeble attempt to regain some measure of composure she smoothed her skirt back down, although it was barely long enough to conceal anything. 

Although her mind had cleared a bit, Heather still stood trapped between dozens of the masked men. Before she could become paralyzed again by indecision, or by darker impulses, she took a deep breath and began to jog towards the escalator. As she ran she could feel the row of hard cocks slapping the sides of her waist but she ignored the sensation as best she could. Occasionally the uneven footing would cause her to stumble but she didn’t allow herself a moment to lose momentum. Although it seemed to take forever, she escaped the crowd and stumbled, panting, onto the steps of the escalator. 

Having reached her goal, Heather felt her adrenaline and determination drain away and for a while, it was all she could do to lay on the rusty, rattling metal steps. She finally found the strength to rise on shaking legs and look back. She had already ascended what seemed to be several stories and at the base of the escalator stood the crowd of masked men. They had moved again and were all staring directly at her, although occasionally one would suddenly spasm or twitch wildly for a second or two. The lights behind her began to dim as well, swallowing the crowd in darkness. 

The escalator continued to carry Heather to an unseen destination, with new lights flickering to life as the ones behind her began to fade. Although she could see no walls or ceiling she could occasionally see objects or shapes hanging in the air on either side of her, just beyond the range of clear vision. Occasionally one seemed to twitch or sway. There were no sounds other than the groaning and squealing of the escalator’s tortured, aged machinery. 

Then the escalator jolted to a stop, suddenly enough that Heather was almost sent toppling forward. The entire structure shook and rattled for a second with a horrifying noise of metal grinding against metal and then it went still and silent. Looking up, Heather could see a landing, barely illuminated by the red lights.

It was not empty. 

Standing on the landing was a figure. Its outline was masculine and powerful, the dim light catching the shape of thick, corded muscles. It seemed to be wearing a mask as well, although it was clearly not from a mascot costume. Heather could not make out any details but the odd, conical shape had an oily, unclean sheen in the red light. Every instinct screamed at her that this creature was dangerous…it would not allow her the luxury of making the first move. 

Behind her, she could hear the buzz of electricity grow quieter. Without even looking she knew that the lights were shutting off, one by one. The island of harsh, red light was growing smaller and smaller and the encroaching darkness behind her was not any more welcoming than the menacing form ahead of her. 

She was trapped. 

The thought should have driven her into a blind panic or a defiant rage, but Heather simply felt empty. There was no place to run and no strength left for a pointless fight. As the figure took a slow, deliberate step forward it was all she could do to lean against the railing of the escalator and close her eyes. Even the dark, twisted lust she had felt earlier was gone…it didn’t matter what happened next. She could hear the sound of footsteps on metal as the creature descended the escalator towards her. 

_Heather?_

The voice echoed through the darkness. It sounded familiar, but Heather couldn’t identify it. Her eyes snapped open in surprise. 

_Heather, are you okay?_

The voice was louder now, the ground shook with it and the lights above began to pop and explode, plunging the scene into darkness. 

_Heather, wake up!_

And she did. 

********

Heather sat up in her bed, nearly hitting her forehead on the bunk above her. There was a moment of complete disorientation as she struggled to separate dream from reality. Her eyes slowly began to focus and she realized that she wasn’t alone. 

“Hey, are you okay?” The girl was a stranger: probably a year or two younger with a skinny build and short hair that had been badly bleached and then badly dyed a patchy pink. Her expression was a mix of concern and nervousness. “Sorry, you just seemed to be having a really bad dream.”

“What the fuck are you doing in my room!?” Heather tried to collect herself. The girl seemed oddly familiar for some reason. 

“Oh, uh sorry.” The strange girl took a step back at the heat in Heather’s voice. “Did they not tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” Heather pulled her clothes into something resembling modesty. “Who are you?”

“I’m...your new room-mate.” The girl held out a hand. “My name’s Cheryl. Nice to meet you.”


	2. I feel your stress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heather gets to know Cheryl and then *gets to know* Cheryl (rimshot). However, this is tainted by a brush with a mysterious stranger who's come to visit.

Heather couldn’t gather her thoughts. Her mind was still reeling from the nightmare and her body felt taut and sore from a combination of fear and unreleased sexual tension. She felt droplets of sweat running between her breasts and she could feel that her panties were bunched up and wet underneath her sheets.   
  
The abrupt appearance of a surprise roommate in this condition would have been awkward and embarrassing enough. But that name: Cheryl. That name froze her solid, especially with the memory of that place still fresh in her mind from last night. That pit of festering nightmares that wore the mask of a town, which had swallowed up her father and almost did the same to her.  
  
“Uh…” Cheryl finally broke the silence, slowly retracting the hand she’d been holding out for the last few awkward minutes. “Sorry, I guess this is kind of sudden. I tried to knock…”  
  
Heather finally snapped out of her stupor, “Sorry! I didn’t mean…it’s just…” She fumbled over her words, unable to express the effect the name had on her. “…I wasn’t expecting anyone.”  
  
“No one told you?” Cheryl seemed to be having difficulty deciding what to do with her unshaken hand and settled for fiddling with the straps of the backpack she had slung over her shoulder. “I guess it was on short notice...there was an accident at my dorm during the weekend and they had to find a place to stick me.”   
  
Heather ran her fingers through her hair and peeked at Cheryl from under her bangs. The girl looked normal enough. A shy, awkward late-teen or early twenty-something who was probably experimenting with the pink hair to try and stand out. Skinny, but without the curves that normally makes that appealing, and sporting freckles and a bit of a gap between her front teeth…features she probably hated. There were lots of girls like her at the university. Heather probably would have been one if she wasn’t so haunted by her past.   
  
“Oh shit, that sucks.” Heather was still off-balance and only half-listening, letting her mouth run on autopilot. “What…uh…what happened?”  
  
“There was…a fire.” Cheryl shifted uneasily.   
  
Heather shook her head, “Fuck. I’m being a complete weirdo, I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath, running her hand through her hair before sticking it out to Cheryl, “I was just in the middle of a…weird dream.”  
  
Cheryl took her hand with a relieved smile and the two shook hands briefly. The smile was cute and genuine, a flash of beauty hidden by the bad hair dye and freckles. Heather checked surreptitiously to make sure her panties were still in place before shrugging off the blanket and climbing out of bed. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Cheryl blush slightly and start glancing around the room.   
  
“It’s okay, I’m sorry to take away your solo dorm life.” She looked at the bed. It was a bunk, with the upper level sporting a bare mattress. Even without a roommate, Heather always took the bottom bunk. With the violence of her night terrors, it simply wasn’t safe otherwise. “Have you always had the place to yourself?”   
  
“Ah…” Heather’s last roommate had left without even saying anything. She simply came back from class two months ago and all of the girl’s stuff was gone. “I used to…I mean…”   
  
Heather sighed deeply and turned away from Cheryl, hugging her shoulders and collecting herself before she continued speaking.   
  
“Look, I should really be up-front with you. I’ve been…going through some shit. And I take a lot of medication for it.” Heather turned around, looking Cheryl right in the eyes, “But I still have episodes…and I’m not very good company.”  
  
“Oh. Uh…I think I know what you mean…” Cheryl smiled hesitantly and reached out to pat Heather on the arm, before thinking better of it and leaving her arm floating awkwardly a few inches away. “I…well…I’m willing to give it a shot if you are.”  
  
Heather hesitated slightly, still bothered by the ominous name. Of course, it was probably just a coincidence. She thought back, remembering a picture she found in a locked strongbox in the back of her father’s closet. Photos of her father with a dark-haired woman and a young girl in a blue and white dress. They were smiling and happy. A family.   
  
Pushing the dark thoughts from her mind, Heather caught Cheryl’s hand and shook. There was no strange sensation or shock of recognition. Surely she would have been able to tell? It was just a hand.   
  
“Yeah. Let’s give it our best shot” Heather tried to smile reassuringly, “Anything I should know about you.”   
  
Cheryl flashed that cute, honest grin, “Sorry, I’m just kind of boring.”   
  
“Boring is good. I’d kill for boring some days.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”  
  
Heather laughed, “No, don’t apologize. Seriously it’s fine. You’re going to have to put up with a lot of shit from me so apologizing is going to be my job.”   
  
Cheryl unslung her backpack and settled it on the top bunk, “I’m just glad to have a place to live after the accident. I thought I’d have to sleep in my car”  
  
Heather picked up a pair of pajama pants from the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. “I promise I’ll get things cleaned up in here. We should like…celebrate or something. Have a dorm-warming party. Do you uh…drink or anything”   
  
“Oh…yeah. Totally. Just don’t let me do shots, I get…uh…I might try to make out with you.” Cheryl blushed, letting that statement hang between them for a moment. “But if that happens just toss me a microwave burrito to distract me.”  
  
Heather felt her own face heat slightly as well and was suddenly very aware of the fact that she still wasn’t wearing pants, but she didn’t want to offend by hurrying to cover herself, “Oh. Oh. Right. Well, we’re definitely doing shots so I’ll make sure to buy a few burritos first.”   
  
Cheryl smiled, her face getting a little bit redder, “Sure thing…I should run downstairs. I’ve got a few things to grab from the car.”   
  
“You need any help?”  
  
“No, no. It’s just like one duffle bag and a pillow. I’ll be right back.”  
  
Cheryl left with an awkward little wave and Heather pulled her pants on and started picking up clothes and trash scattered across the floor. While she put out an effort to keep things clean when she was living with someone else she tended to let things run wild when she was on her own. After a few minutes, the hamper was creaking and the garbage can was overflowing with take-out boxes and glass bottles.  
  
Heather was tucking the bat underneath the bed again when there was a knock at the door. A quick series of staccato raps in an odd, halting pattern almost like rapid-fire Morse code. The sound caused Heather to jerk up, almost cracking her head on the bedframe.   
  
For a moment her heart raced and Heather had to count in her head a few seconds to remain calm. Cheryl probably just wanted to let her know that she was coming in. She let her breathing steady and waited for Cheryl to let herself in like she had this morning.  
  
Instead, the rapid, erratic knocking came again. It almost seemed like the same pattern as before, although Heather couldn’t recognize any tune she knew. The sound was sharp and loud and caused Heather’s heart rate to spike again. She told herself that Cheryl had probably just forgotten her key or maybe just had her hands full but it was still difficult for her to get to her feet and approach the door. She stopped, shaking, a few feet away.   
  
Four.  
  
Eight.  
  
Sixteen.  
  
The knocking came again, wrecking Heather’s concentration. Sweat was beading on her forehead and her ears were filled with the sound of her own heartbeat. She gritted her teeth and leaned into the doorway, peering through the peephole.   
  
It wasn’t Cheryl on the other side of the door.   
  
The man on the other side was very tall and very close to the door so Heather could only see the very bottom of their chin, their neck and their chest. They were pale, dressed in a black suit and tie and they perfectly still, not even swaying slightly as they waited on the other side of the door.   
  
Heather’s knees almost gave out at the sight and she sagged against the door. Her mind raced, trying to figure out what this meant or who was waiting on the other side of the door. The knocking came again, echoing through her body as she leaned against the door. She let out a quiet sob and nearly collapsed to the floor.   
  
But then she remembered that Cheryl would be coming up any minute now. She’d meet this person in the hallway, waiting in front of their door. At best it’d be mortifying for her to find Heather cowering in her room from a perfectly mundane and benign visitor. At worst…Heather shuddered at the thought of Cheryl facing some of the horrors she had seen in the past. For some reason, Cheryl’s goofy, sweet smile popped into her mind. She felt ill at the thought of that smile being swallowed by the same darkness that had consumed her own life.   
  
Of course, Heather reassured herself, there was nothing to fear and this was almost certainly someone knocking on the wrong door, or here to deliver something related to the room transfer. Heather got to her feet and, before another series of knocks could freeze her again, reached out and opened the door a crack.   
  
The tall man on the other side of the door smiled at her, exposing a row of very white teeth, slightly longer than seemed normal. His lips were pale and thin but his gums were a bright, vibrant red. His skin was a pale gray his hair was a ragged mess of gray peppered with black. He had an unusually long and thin roman nose, long enough that it almost seemed like a prosthetic. His eyes were…normal.  
  
“Heather Mason.”   
  
“Y-yes? I mean, that’s me.”   
  
“It’s so good to see you.” The man smiled wider.   
  
Heather waited several seconds for him to continue but eventually had to break the silence, “Can I help you?”  
  
“I’m a friend of your family, Heather. I’ve been looking for you ever since I heard what happened to your father” The man’s voice was very soft and rough, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”  
  
“You knew my dad?” Heather’s throat tightened and she struggled to keep her voice steady. She met his eyes briefly but then found herself focused on his chin.   
  
The man on the other side of the door smiled wider, “I know your family very well. I would love to take you out to dinner…I have so much I would like to talk to you about.”  
  
Heather shifted uneasily. She didn’t particularly want to talk to a stranger about her father, or anything else for that matter. What’s more, her anxiety had mostly passed, but now she was feeling the stirring between her legs and the sensation of moisture spreading into her already-damp underwear. She still hadn’t put on a bra and she could feel her tight, aching nipples standing out against the fabric of her t-shirt. Talking to someone while she felt this way left her feeling unclean and embarrassed, as though she were walking naked through a garbage pit.   
  
“I’m sorry, but I really don’t have the time to visit. I’ve got plans tonight-”   
  
He raised his hand, gently interrupting her, and leaned forward so that his face was almost touching the doorjamb. He was now directly at eye level with Heather, causing her to focus her attention on his nose. Somehow his smile got even wider than it was before and she could see the chapped skin of his lips crack, exposing wet, red flesh underneath.   
  
“Heather. I understand.” His nostrils flared slightly, as though catching a scent. The tiny gesture sent a horrified shiver through her body. He could smell her. The smell of her sweat, her fear and the smell of her wet, throbbing cunt. It was like he had shoved his head right between her legs and taken a deep breath. Heather wanted to slam the door directly in his face but managed to keep her self-control.   
  
“I-I’m glad. I hope you didn’t have to come far, but I need to get back to work.”   
  
“You’ve grown so much Heather.” The man on the other side of the door spoke slowly, savoring the word ‘grown’ in a way that made Heather feel even more fouled. She imagined that she could feel his words, slimy and warm, crawling across her skin. “So much like her…”  
  
“P-p-” Heather gritted her teeth and gathered herself, “Please. I just don’t have the time to talk. Goodbye!”  
  
With her last words, Heather shut the door firmly and slammed the deadbolt home. Her hands were trembling and she was on the edge of hyperventilating. She thought of looking through the peephole to make sure that the man on the other side of the door had gone away…but she couldn’t build up the courage to look. The only thing worse than not knowing if he was waiting on the other side would be finding out that he definitely was waiting on the other side.   
  
She slumped down at her desk, still cluttered with assignments and unopened envelopes, and put her head in her hands. Her pussy ached and tingled and she could feel her nipples rub painfully against the fabric of her shirt. She was hot, sticky and tense and wanted nothing more than to jam her hands into her panties and rub herself off.   
  
But she couldn’t. The memory of the man on the other side of the door was still fresh in her mind. His expression when he caught her scent. His disturbingly wide smile. His eyes. She couldn’t get him out of her head and the thought of touching herself while that face filled her thoughts left her ill. And so she sat…hot, sticky, tense and frustrated.   
  
She was snapped out of her unpleasant fugue by the sound of a soft thump at the door, followed by the sound of a key scraping for a keyhole.  
  
“Heather? I’m coming in.” Cheryl’s voice was muffled by the door. Heather felt instantly ashamed that she had completely forgotten about Cheryl after the encounter with the man on the other side of the door. Heather hurriedly got to her feet as Cheryl opened the door, wishing she had taken the opportunity to put a bra on.   
  
“Hi! Did you get everything?”   
  
Cheryl came in, juggling a large duffle bag, a laptop bag and a box in colorful wrapping paper topped with a bow. “Yeah! This is all I’ve got. I hope you don’t mind me bumming your fridge and microwave and stuff…most of my electronics got ruined.”   
  
Heather walked over and took the heavy duffle off of Cheryl’s hands, causing the skinny girl to tip back as she regained her balance. “Here, let me get that. You can borrow whatever you need. Feel free to use the dressers too, I pretty much just wear three outfits.”   
  
“Thanks!” Cheryl’s chipper energy was infectious and Heather could feel some of her tension releasing with the other girl around. “Here. This is for you I guess.”  
  
She handed Heather the colorful present, wrapped in red and yellow paper. It felt heavy and was difficult to balance, as though the weight inside kept shifting around. It had a black ribbon and a folded tag.   
  
“What is it? Some kind of moving-in present? You really didn’t have to.”  
  
“Oh? No, no.” Cheryl laughed. “No that wasn’t from me. It was just outside the door and so I figured it must have been for you. I haven’t told anyone else I was moving her yet.”   
  
Heather had already started tearing off the wrapping but what Cheryl said made her freeze in place. Cheryl had turned away, already starting to unpack, and didn’t seem to notice the effect her words had on Heather. Taking a deep breath to steady herself Heather turned away, hiding the box with her body. Her heart rate spiked and she could feel a hot pressure behind her eyes. The box wobbled in her hands as its weight shifted again and her fingers began to twitch and tremble.   
  
Six  
  
Heather focused on her counting exercise.   
  
Twelve.  
  
She could hear Cheryl chattering away in the background, something about cell phone trouble.  
  
Twenty-Four.  
  
Forty-Eight.  
  
Ninety-Six.  
  
Heather’s hands stopped trembling. The package still wobbled slightly in her hands as though there were something inside rolling around.   
  
One-Hundred Ninety-Two.  
  
Three-Hundred Eighty Four.  
Heather licked her lips and resumed peeling away the wrapping paper. The wrapping paper was pristine and glossy, each crease and fold was precise and professional, but the cardboard box underneath was peeling and heavily water-damaged.  
  
Seven-Hundred Sixty-Eight.   
  
The box had no tape or glue and once it was unwrapped Heather could simply unfold the layers of cardboard, revealing wadded up yellowing newspaper. The whole thing smelled of mildew and wet autumn leaves.   
  
One-Thousand, Five-Hundred and Thirty-Six.   
  
Heather took a deep breath and pulled away the top layer of newspaper, revealing the contents of the box. It was a strange metal pyramid, made up of six interlocking sections and whose faces were carved with odd-looking designs. Heather’s eyes itched and watered but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from the pyramid.   
  
Three-Thousand and Seventy-Two.   
  
The symbols whispered to her.   
  
Six-Thousand, One-Hundred and Forty-Four.  
  
She could almost make out their meaning.   
  
Twelve-Thousand, Two-Hundred and Eighty-Eight.   
  
They were names.   
  
Twenty-Four-Thousand, Five-Hundred and–  
  
“What’s in the box?”   
  
Cheryl’s words snapped Heather out of her reverie. For a moment she didn’t remember what she had been doing and stared in confusion at the box and the weird…paperweight? But the thing gave her a bad feeling and the thought that it must have been left by the man on the other side of the door gave her an unpleasant shiver.   
  
Acting quickly she put the box on the ground and slid it far under the bed. She turned to face Cheryl who was setting up her toiletries around the sink.   
  
“Oh…it was just a…” She couldn’t think of a convincing lie. “I’m not sure. I’ll take a look at it later.”   
  
Fortunately, Cheryl didn’t seem interested in pushing the topic. Instead, she gestured at the sink. “Is the mirror broken or something?”   
  
She was referring to the small wall mirror above the sink. It was covered in a black plastic garbage bag, which had been secured by several layers of black duct tape. Heather had covered within hours of moving in.   
  
“Something like that,” Heather responded. She hoped Cheryl would drop the subject there.   
  
“Oh, that sucks.” Cheryl put her toothbrush in the metal holder next to the sink. “It looks like you’ve got a leak or something too.”  
  
“Wait, what?” Heather came up behind Cheryl, peering around the smaller girl. “A leak?”   
Cheryl was right. A thin trickle of water was flowing from underneath the rim of the mirror and dribbled down to the sink below. The water was stained with rust and was already leaving a reddish residue on the sink and wall. Heather opened up the cabinet covered by the wrapped mirror and traced the path of the flowing water. The back of the cabinet, near the top, had a small hole that was dribbling a slow, but steady, stream of ruddy water.   
  
“Fuck! When did this happen?” Heather rubbed at the stains with a bit of tissue but it was stubborn and just left red streaks.   
  
“Can we call an RA or maintenance or something?”  
  
“Not until Monday, not unless its an emergency.”  
  
“Uggh.” Cheryl moved back to her duffle. “The dorms here are such a garbage dump. Living on campus is such a scam.”   
  
“It can’t have been going on long. Hopefully, it’s a simple fix.”   
  
For the next half-hour, Heather helped Cheryl unpack and get settled into the dorm. The fire had left her without much in the way of belongings…just a few mismatched outfits and a few basics that the school had bought for her. Fortunately, she had her backpack with her course books and laptop with her when the fire happened and those were spared.   
  
For the next few hours, they talked. Well, mostly Cheryl did the talking. She chatted about her old roommate (Who had ended up at a different dorm), the classes she was taking and bits of cheap gossip about her teachers. Heather just made encouraging noises when there was a pause in the conversation and provided the occasional laugh or outraged exclamation as needed.   
  
Eventually, the conversation faltered and the two decided to pop in a video. Cheryl admitted that she’d never seen anything by Terry Gilliam and so Heather insisted on correcting this character flaw, so before too long she was digging through her DVD collection looking for Time Bandits.   
  
Heather laid lengthwise on her bed while Cheryl settled into a beanbag on the floor. As the credits began, Heather remembered something and opened up the bottom drawer of her desk, retrieving an unlabeled bottle of clear liquid and some shot glass-sized plastic Solo cups. She filled both and handed one to Cheryl before downing the second one herself. There was a split-second before the heat of the alcohol ripped its way down her throat and settled into her stomach. Her eyes watered and she grunted from the pain.   
  
Cheryl tried to follow suit but as soon as the clear liquid hit her mouth her eyes widened and she began to sputter and cough. Heather smacked her on the back as her face twisted from the taste.   
  
“Holy fucking shit!” Cheryl eventually managed, her voice raspy. “What the fuck is this, Draino?”   
  
Heather laughed and poured herself a second shot, “It’s Everclear. 190-proof.”   
  
Cheryl goggled at Heather as she downed another shot, flinching only slightly from the heat and the taste. “Fuck, I didn’t think anyone actually drinks this stuff straight.”   
  
Heather smiled and pulled a can of ginger-ale from the minifridge by the TV and mixed Cheryl a crude mixed drink in a larger plastic thermos. “The way I see it, all alcohol basically tastes like shit and only exists to get you drunk. This way I can just get over it and get from sober to wasted ASAP.”   
  
Cheryl sipped her cocktail, still wincing at the taste but managing to keep it down, “So I guess you’re not a wine person, huh?”   
  
Heather made a dismissive noise with her lips, already feeling pleasantly light-headed. “Fuck wine. It’s just bad grape juice.”   
  
Cheryl laughed and took another drink. The two watched the movie and by the David Warner turned into a giant, arrow-studded tomato the bottle was half empty. Heather was now laying on her back, feet in the air, with her head next to Cheryl’s. She looked over at Cheryl, watching the light from the TV play over her face. She was trying to focus on the movie but her eyes were half-lidded and her head was wobbling slightly from time to time.   
  
Heather inhaled, about to say something but then hesitated. However, the relaxing warmth filling her brain wouldn’t let her stay silent.   
  
“Uhm…sorry.” She murmured.   
  
“For what?” Cheryl looked over at her, voice slightly slurred.  
  
Heather decided to bail and change the subject, but then she realized that she was already talking. “I just…I forgot to get you any frozen burritos.”  
  
“Oh.” Cheryl had an expression of polite confusion but it slowly changed as Heather’s words seeped through the haze left by the everclear. “Oh…that’s…that’s too bad.”  
  
Heather became very aware that the two of them were only inches away from one another.   
  
Cheryl opened her mouth slightly to say something but didn’t seem to know what to say.   
  
“I guess…you did warn me.” Heather could smell the mixture of alcohol and ginger-ale on Cheryl’s breath.   
  
“Well, I don’t want to-”  
  
Cheryl was interrupted when Heather leaned in, clearing the few inches that separated them and pressing her lips against hers. Cheryl responded eagerly, opening her lips and allowing Heather to take the lead.   
  
Their kisses were awkward, with Heather hanging over the edge of the bed and Cheryl twisted around in a beanbag chair, but both of them threw themselves into it with a desperate desire that more than made up for any lack of technique. Heather lost herself in the experience, in the feeling of Cheryl’s soft lips on her own and the taste of sugar, alcohol and a hint of apple lip-balm.   
  
Then Cheryl let the tip of her tongue flick out, running it lightly along Heather’s bottom lip. The sensation ricocheted through Heather’s body like a bolt of lightning, arcing from her lips, down to her stomach and then settling over her nipples and between her legs. Her body became even warmer than before and her mind went blank, overwhelmed by the glow of alcohol and the tight heat in her pussy.   
  
Her hand moved across the bed, slowly and hesitantly as though she were reaching out to pet a strange animal and didn’t want to frighten it away. Her fingers met Cheryl’s arm, sending a tingling sensation shooting up her arm and spreading a wave of heat across her face and chest. She kept moving, up Cheryl’s arm, to her shoulder and the slowly, slowly sliding down the front of Cheryl’s t-shirt. She hesitated when she felt the gentle swell of Cheryl’s small breast and then the outline of her bra under the shirt. But Cheryl made a low, appreciative sound in her throat and opened her mouth wider beneath Heather’s. Tentatively, their tongues met, flicking and sliding gently against one another.   
  
Heather reversed direction and moved her hand back up toward’s Cheryl’s shoulder and traced the outline of her collarbone before sliding it under Cheryl’s v-neck collar. Cheryl’s skin was cool and dotted with sweat. As Heather moved her hand lower she could feel her breathing intensity and her heartbeat quickened, matching Heather’s own.   
  
Cheryl made another happy, sensual noise and slipped an arm behind Heather’s neck, running her fingers through Heather’s messy hair. The sensation caused a wave of prickling tension through her neck and back, instantly raising the hair on her neck and arms.   
  
Heather’s hand finally found the edge of Cheryl’s bra underneath her shirt and slipped beneath it. Cheryl’s breasts were small and even Heather’s petite hands could completely cover one. She seemed to be exceptionally sensitive, moaning against Heather’s mouth when her probing fingers found one of her hard, erect nipples. Heather was cautious, running her fingers lightly along the rim of her areola and raising a trail of goosebumps on the girl’s skin.   
  
Cheryl gave another moan, which turned into a gasp of excitement and briefly broke contact with Heather’s lips. Heather took the opportunity to lower her head, kissing the nape of Cheryl’s neck and moving to her earlobes when Cheryl turned her head to give her easier access.   
  
Heather’s own body was going wild. The sexual frustration from earlier had returned with a vengeance and her body, already warm from the alcohol, was practically on fire. She wanted to rip her pants and…and…  
  
For a moment, Heather cleared some cobwebs from her head, briefly stumped over what to do next. Her fingers continued to twirl over Cheryl’s nipples while she nuzzled the girl’s neck…but she found herself caught by indecision. She had barely any experience to speak of and even in her fantasies she had never thought that her first time would be with another girl. Should she take off Cheryl’s clothes? Take off her own? Would they do…mouth stuff? Was that what lesbians did? Was she a lesbian now?   
  
Her thoughts were interrupted by another groan of pleasure from Cheryl and she smiled to herself. She was barely touching the girl and she was already losing it, so she must have been doing something right.   
  
“Oh…oh…fuck…” Cheryl panted, eyes closed and head lolling against the bed, “Heather…oh God, that feels so good. I think I’m getting close…”  
  
Heather’s self-congratulation was replaced by confusion. She didn’t know much about lesbian sex but she was pretty sure that most people didn’t come after making out and a few minutes of light nipple-play. Cheryl moaned and Heather could feel her tremble under her hands. She really did seem to be on the cusp of climax.   
  
“God-damn girl,” Heather pulled away gently, trying to gather her thoughts. “I thought we were just getting started.”   
  
“Oh! Ooooh…Heather.” Cheryl moaned, apparently oblivious to what Heather was saying.   
  
“Uh…Cheryl?” Heather pulled her hand free of Cheryl’s shirt but this didn’t seem to stop her from writhing in pleasure. “Cheryl, are you-”  
  
She trailed off as the final credits of the movie suddenly clicked off. The screen had gone black with a “No Signal” indicator floating in the middle. The picture jittered, pixels tearing and flickering. Without the sound of the movie in the background, Heather could hear something else…a pulsing, wet noise. The noise of moist flesh moving against moist flesh.   
  
One of Cheryl’s hands were draped behind Heather’s neck and the other was splayed over the mattress. With growing dread, Heather turned her head and peered down at Cheryl’s waist. It was difficult to see in the flickering light of the TV, but she could make out the thing wrapped around Cheryl’s leg. It was a long, ropelike tendril with black, shining skin like an eel. It curled around Cheryl’s leg and slipped under her waistband. Heather could not see what it was doing underneath her pants but she could see it pulse and throb under the cloth, working between Cheryl’s thighs. Her eyes followed the tendril back to its source but it vanished into the darkness underneath the bed.   
  
Cheryl gasped for air and arched her back, gasping and twitching as an orgasm washed through her. Heather let out a strangled scream and shoved herself backward, huddling in the corner as her arousal gave way to fear. Cheryl continued to spasm with ecstasy and, seemingly unaware of Heather’s distress, slipped down her beanbag chair and feel out of sight below the edge of the mattress.   
  
This is a dream.  
  
She tried to comfort herself with this, but she could tell it was a lie as soon as the thought popped into her head. This was real. She had seen horrors in dreams and the waking world and knew the difference.   
  
Fighting off her fear, Heather lunged across the bed, grabbing the bottle of everclear and hefting it like a club. She crawled to the edge of the bed and looked down, ready to smash the horrifying tentacle that was violating Cheryl.   
  
Cheryl was still on the ground, breathing heavily as the aftershocks of orgasm began to fade. She was lying flat on her back and she had twisted around so her lower half was now underneath the bed. However, judging by her moans and trembling, the tentacle was still doing its work out of sight.   
  
“Cheryl!” Heather called, trying to reach down without leaving the mattress herself, “Cheryl, I need you to take my hand!”   
  
“Mmmm?” Cheryl finally seemed to hear her and her brow wrinkled slightly in confusion. “Heather?”  
  
“Cheryl, please!” Heather cried, trying to grab at the other girl’s arms which were splayed out of her reach. “You’ve got to get it together.”  
  
Cheryl opened her eyes, an expression of confusion and mild distress replacing ecstasy. “Heather? What’s going o-”  
  
Before she could finish her sentence Cheryl’s eyes popped open in shock and fear, her mouth opening wide in complete horror. Before she could even scream she was suddenly yanked violently beneath the bed, vanishing out of sight.   
  
“Cheryl!!!” Heather shrieked and she was finally spurred to leap off the bed, crouching to peek underneath, hoping to catch a glimpse of her roommate.   
  
Cheryl was gone.   
  
The tentacle was gone.

  
Heather let out a wordless cry of frustration and fear and grabbed her phone, lighting up the screen and shining it beneath the bed. The light flickered and stuttered, but it was sufficient to illuminate the only thing under the bed: the strange metal pyramid.

  
It was unfolded, all four sides laying flat on the ground. The “floor” of the pyramid did not exist. Instead, it opened into a fleshy, pulsating tunnel about half a foot wide. As Heather watched the pyramid snapped back to its original configuration, folding up violently like a triggered mousetrap.

  
Heather was alone again.   
  
  



	3. You're Not Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heather comes face to face with her darker self.

Heather hunched over her desk, pencil scratching on paper as scribbled desperately. The desk and floor were covered in crumbled pages, damp from sweat and tears, covered in long strings of numbers.

Two-hundred and eighty-one trillion, four-hundred and seventy-four billion, nine-hundred and seventy-six million, seven-hundred and ten thousand and six-hundred fifty-six.

She’d had to start over many, many times. Eventually, she couldn’t do the calculations in her head anymore and she had to pull out paper and pencil and started scribbling out the sequences. She wasn’t sure how long it had been, but the sun was going down outside her window. She stared at the numbers on the page with wide, bloodshot eyes forcing herself to check her math slowly and methodically.

Finally satisfied she started to work out the next number in the sequence. The math itself wasn’t difficult, but if she lost focus for even a minute her mind began to wander and the page would end up torn to pieces or blotted by tears. This was the furthest she had gotten so far.

As she pressed the tip of her mechanical pencil to the paper she put too much pressure on it and the lead snapped in half. Heather gritted her teeth and pressed the button to load another length of lead. Nothing emerged. She rattled the pencil. It was empty.

Desperate, she brushed layers of paper off the desk and onto the floor, searching for extra lead. She knocked containers and jars to the floor. She yanked drawers from the desk, spilling their contents across the ground. She tore open her backpack. There was nothing. No lead. No spare pencils. Nothing.

When the fog in Heather’s head cleared a bit, she found herself tucked underneath the desk, curled into a fetal position. She was breathing heavily, each breath pressing her knees painfully against her chest. Her neck and back were sore from the unnatural position. It wasn’t clear how long she had been like this, but there was no sunlight streaming through the windows anymore.

Her eyes fell on the pyramid. It was sitting in the corner of the room. Unchanged.

She had tried everything to open it again. Prying at it with fingers and pocket-knife. Smashing it with her baseball bat. Throwing it against the walls and floor. Screaming at it. Begging it to take her instead. She wondered if anyone from the neighboring dorms had heard her. Did they just think she was having more nightmares? Did they care?

The pyramid hadn’t reacted at all. Cheryl was gone. It hurt, like a chunk of her flesh had been torn from her body, leaving an empty, raw place inside of her. Overcome by helplessness and despair she had tried to regain control with her counting ritual. Now even that was gone. The numbers weren’t helping.

As she stared at the small, metal object she became aware of a sound. The sound of dripping water. It was slow, almost a minute between each drop. Slowly, she pulled her gaze away from the pyramid towards the small sink in the corner of the room, opposite of the desk she was crouched under. Droplets of water were gathering along the bottom of the mirror, collecting along the edge of the black plastic covering it.

Without quite realizing it she started to uncurl, climbing out from under the desk. She stood on shaky legs and approached the sink. She wasn’t sure why it mattered at this point, but it was something to focus on. Something to distract her from the gnawing pain and helplessness.

She opened the medicine cabinet. When Cheryl had pointed out the hole to her it had been a small thing, about the width of a pen. Now it was a ragged tear in the plastic backing of the medicine cabinet, about the size of her palm. Behind it, she could see that the hole continued into the concrete of the wall itself. The jagged stump of an exposed pipe was the source of the dripping as it leaked rusty water into the hole and from there into the medicine cabinet itself.

She simply stared at the hole for several minutes. It extended far enough into the wall that the fluorescent ceiling light couldn’t illuminate the end of it. Far enough that she should be able to see into the dorm room right next door. The walls were only a foot or two thick. It was impossible and inexplicable...but Heather couldn’t muster enough emotional energy to feel surprised or frightened. As far as impossible things went, this hardly seemed to be worth the effort to worry about. She closed the medicine cabinet again.

And then she…

And then…

Then…

Heather stared at the mass of electrical tape and black plastic covering the mirror. She had been standing here for several minutes. Just staring blankly. What was there to do? The pyramid would still be there mocking her. She would still be empty, hurting and alone. Should she crawl back under the desk? What difference did it make if she suffered here by the sink...or under her desk...or on her bed...or laying flat on the floor? Might as well not bother moving.

Idly, it did occur to her that she’d probably need to eat or drink something soon. But right now even that slight act of self-preservation seemed like an impossible effort. Maybe in a few hours, the weekend would be over and classes would start. She certainly had no plans to leave her room. No plans for anything at all.

Her chest hurt.

The sound of wrinkling plastic broke her reverie. Something was moving under the plastic, pressing it outward from the other side. Heather raised a shaking hand and, without consciously making the decision, began to peel the tape away.

It took several minutes to completely strip the mirror. Underneath the layers of plastic, the mirror was whole and unbroken. There was no sign of anything that might have pushed against the plastic but at this point, Heather wasn’t particularly surprised by this.

She couldn’t bring herself to meet her own eyes in the mirror and instead she scanned the reflection of the room, looking for the figure she knew would be waiting. The reason why she kept the mirror covered and avoided any reflective surface whenever she could.

There. She was crouched on the bottom bunk bed, half-hidden in the shadows.

Alessa met Heather’s gaze in the mirror.

Alessa looked just like she had three years ago on the twisted carousel. She still wore the same bloodstained vest and skirt that Heather herself had long-ago burnt. Her skin was the pallid gray of a corpse and where it wasn’t burnt and twisted it was streaked with dried blood. Her hair was raven-black, Heather’s natural color, and was matted to her face with blood and dirt and her eyes glittered, sunken into hollow sockets.

Heather gritted her teeth. The emptiness inside her filled slightly by a familiar feeling of disgust and anger. Alessa was the reason why she couldn’t put the past behind her. For the last three years, her befouled other self had lurked in every reflection. Sometimes her ghastly figure was only a few feet away, other times her presence was more subtle: a bloodstained pair of boots glimpsed under the door of a bathroom stall, or a scarred hand peeking out from under a blanket. Always watching her, always forcing her to remember the worst days of her life...and beyond that the hazy memories of another life. A life of torture and worship. A world cut down to a single hospital bed. The hateful touch of her mother. Kaufmann’s needles. Pain.

The specter in the mirror began to move, eyes still locked to Heather’s. Her hands and boots left grimy streaks on the bedsheets as she climbed out of the shadows and stood. Normally, Heather made sure to break contact with any reflection before Alessa could start approaching. It wasn’t always possible. One therapist had refused to cover their mirror and Heather had to smash it with a vase before Alessa’s decayed hand could touch her shoulder. Needless to say, there hadn’t been a follow-up appointment.

But now, Heather just waited. She wasn’t sure what would happen when Alessa reached her. But...surely something would happen? Something other than the paralyzing stasis she was currently frozen in. Maybe she would die. Maybe Alessa would walk out of the room wearing her face. Maybe the pain would be over.

Heather’s conviction began to erode as Alessa moved closer. She began to breathe more rapidly and her neck and back tensed as she fought to stay still. Some part of her didn’t want to go quietly. It screamed at her to toss a towel over the mirror and run out of the room. To find the man from the other side of the door and shove that metal pyramid up his ass. To fight. To live.

That inner voice was quiet at first but grew louder and louder as Alessa loomed larger in the mirror. Heather bit her lip until she tasted blood and stood her ground. Alessa was reaching out now. She could smell a faint odor of burnt meat and blood.

Heather screamed, a mixture of terror and defiance and grabbed the baseball bat leaning against the corner, swinging wildly at the place behind her where Alessa had been standing in the mirror.

“Fuck off, you rotting bitch!”

The bat swung through empty air. Heather was alone in the room. She stood there panting for several seconds, tears in her eyes. For a moment there, she had been willing to let Alessa take her. But she wouldn’t let that happen. She had fought through pain, terror and blood. She had gone into a place worse than hell itself and ground the face of a god beneath her boot. She wasn’t going to go down that easily.

Heather turned back to the mirror.

Alessa was embracing her, arms around Heather’s shoulders and hands reaching for her throat. The stench of rot, iron and ash filled her nostrils. Alessa’s eyes burned with hate and hunger.

Heather screamed.

In an act of desperate violence, she swung the bat at the medicine cabinet, smashing it off of the wall and scattering shards of glass and metal across the floor.

The lights cut out. The darkness was absolute, no street lights filtering through the window. No red glow from her digital clock. No tiny green lights from her charging laptop.

In the distance, a siren wailed.

\-------------------

Heather regained consciousness as the sound of the siren began to fade. She didn’t remember falling unconscious...one moment she had been swinging her bat at the empty darkness and the next she was laying on her back on what felt like carpet of some kind. She was still in complete darkness and, at some point, she must have lost hold of her bat. It occurred to her that her dorm room did not have a carpet.

She started to feel around on the floor with her fingers, searching for the bat or any other weapon. The carpet was slightly damp and felt ragged and rotten. Her fingers felt the edge and beyond was a rough wooden floor. Her questing hand found something, the familiar, rounded rectangle of her smartphone.

Heather pressed the power button and the screen lit up but it was cracked and damaged, a jumbled mess of twitching pixels. She tapped fruitlessly at the broken screen and the only reaction was a few garbled chirps or blurts of static. She was just about to give up when the phone’s flash lit up, providing a weak beam of light to illuminate her surroundings.

Deciding that it would be better not to try anything further, Heather shone the beam around. The room had the same general dimensions as her dorm room but it clearly wasn’t the same place. It took her a while to recognize the place...the decaying furniture, the stained bed, the cases of pinned butterflies on the wall.

She’d been here once before, in the depths of a chapel where space and reality were falling to pieces. Its true origin was a three story-house on the outskirts of that town, a dimly remembered home. Now a pile of ash.

Alessa’s bedroom.

Heather swept the room with the light. She was alone and the room was much like she remembered. There were two doors. One was quite firmly nailed shut: thick planks hammered in place with rusty nails.

The other door was unobstructed and had an arrangement of rectangular recesses carved into the wood, three by three. She remembered this last bizarre challenge she had to overcome before she could meet Claudia face-to-face.

“Fuck…” Heather’s shoulders slumped slightly as she scanned the door with her phone’s light. “Alessa! Are you here?!”

There was no answer. Her voice had no echo, as though she was shouting into an empty void rather than screaming inside a tiny room.

She tried the door, on principle. It was locked. She spent a while kicking it and swearing, but that was mostly to make her feel a little better. It worked, slightly. It was strange, but she actually did feel better. She could still feel that gnawing, hopeless hole somewhere deep inside but it felt...buried. How fucked up was it that being here, back in this nightmare, was somehow more pleasant than being back in her own room?

Although this was her room as well, she supposed. Or it used to be. In another life.

She examined the door. The top row of recesses were filled with what looked like tarot cards. To the left was a card labeled Judgement showing a twisted, quasi-angelic figure with a trumpet. On the right was a card labeled The Hanged Man, showing a figure suspended upside down in some kind of metal frame, their head covered in a red sack. In the center was a card she had only ever seen once before and had never been able to find in any other tarot deck: The Eye Of Night. All three were nailed in place with rusty iron nails.

The middle row was filled with photos, taped in place with clear packing tape. The central photo was Heather herself, looking red-eyed and sullen, as though she had just finished crying. Heather hated having her picture taken and certainly had no memory of posing for this picture, but she was staring directly into the camera. On the left was Cheryl, sporting her terrible pink hair dye and a nervous smile. The rightmost photo was poorly developed and looked much older than the other two but it showed Heather’s face as well. Except that her hair was black and there was the faint overlay of another, similar face, like an accidental double-exposure: Alessa.

The bottom-most row was empty: three gaps waiting to be filled.

“Fucking games,” Heather muttered. She shouted into the empty room, “If you’re going to kill me or send fucking monsters after me, just do it! Why the fucking puzzles!?”

There was no answer.

Heather sighed and shone her light around. There was no telling how long the phone’s battery would last and she knew from experience that the door wouldn’t budge until she played along. There was no use fighting it.

On the bed was an old, water-stained sketchbook. She flipped through it, looking for some sort of clue. Almost every page was blacked out like someone took a black crayon and scribbled furiously until the entire page was covered. Occasional gaps in the marks revealed that there were drawings underneath, furiously expunged. The last page was the only one that hadn’t been completely blacked out.

The writing was in crayon and looked like an excerpt from some kind of reference on mythology or religion.

_One of the oldest religious symbols is the tripartite goddess. Each aspect of the goddess representing an essential aspect of life. The Maiden, who represents purity, virginity and the hope of new life. The Mother, a protective, nurturing figure associated with sex and fertility. The Crone, representing old age, wisdom and death._

Underneath the sketch pad was a small tile, roughly the dimensions of a tarot card but thicker and carved of some kind of bone or ivory. It showed a young girl washing beneath a waterfall. In the sky was a half-full moon and in the woods behind the girl were the shadowed shapes of wolves.

Heather picked up the tile and returned to the door. As far as bizarre puzzles went, this didn’t seem particularly hard. She took the tile and fitted it to the space below Cheryl’s picture and pressed it into the recess. It slid in easily and there was a snapping sound as something locked the tile into place. Two left.

She found the second tile in one of the desk drawers. It was full of black, fibrous fungus that tore like cotton candy when she opened the drawer. Nested in the center was another tile, its white surface yellowed with age and spotted by fungal spores. Heather tore a page from the sketchbook and used it to lift the tile out without touching it directly. It featured an elderly woman sleeping in a rocking chair. Her mouth was open and a spider seemed to be building a web between her lips. In the sky was the slightest sliver of a crescent moon, just barely still visible.

Heather stood in front of the door and pondered this one for a moment, but there were only two options and Alessa was technically the eldest, wasn’t she? She slotted the tile into the lower right recess and pressed it home. There was another snapping noise and somewhere beyond the door was the sound of machinery moving into new configurations. Just one empty spot remained.

The last tile eluded her for almost fifteen minutes. Nothing in the drawers or rotten dressers or beneath the disturbingly damp mattress. She was just about to start upending furniture and tearing things from the wall when she walked over the rug and heard the creak of an elderly floorboard. A familiar sound that triggered a wave of memories. The memories of a young girl who had not yet been burnt and tortured, a girl who was, in some ways, her.

That girl had a secret place, where she could hide small toys and treasures from her mother’s disapproving gaze. A small space under the floorboards. A safe place.

Heather pulled the rug back, leaving a greasy residue as the damp rug peeled away from the wood. There it was, a board that wasn’t quite flush with the rest of the floor. Digging her fingernails into the gap she pulled the board back. There it was. Nestled in what looked like a pile of dry autumn leaves was the last tile. A woman seated on a throne, with a crown on her head. Her chest was bare and baby-faced cherubs with sharp teeth and withered wings gnawed on her breasts.

Heather looked at the remaining recess, located underneath her own picture. The mother.

“Not if I can fucking help it,” Heather muttered, as she stuck the tile into the slot.

It just barely failed to fit. Something was wrong, the ridges just along its edge not quite aligning with the gap in the wood. She pushed and shoved fruitlessly, but it just wouldn’t fit. She scoured the room again, but there was no sign of another tile. She tried to pull either of the first two tiles out of their recesses, in case she had gotten the arrangement wrong, but they were firmly locked in place and wouldn’t budge.

“What the fuck!?” Heather slammed a fist against the door. “You people, you stick your fucking god-baby in my stomach. You tell me it’s my fucking destiny, and now I’m not mother enough for you!? Is that it!?”

Heather hurled the tile against the wall and it clattered to the floor. She swore and ranted for a few more minutes before she bent down and picked it up. Staring at the tile in her hand something clicked in her mind.

When she picked it up, the tile was upside down and she noticed a detail she hadn’t seen before. The other two tiles had a moon in the sky. There was no moon above the Mother’s head however, there was a large circle on the floor of the scene. The full moon.

The Mother, reversed. The woman who hates and murders their own newborn child.

She slid the tie into the slot, upside down. It fit perfectly. There was a final snap and the sound of chains and gears rattling behind the door. There was a loud metallic clack from the door’s lock.

Heather took a deep breath, in and out. She considered starting up her counting ritual but...she wasn’t actually afraid. She hated this place, she hated Alessa...but she didn’t fear them, for some reason. She reached out and slowly took the handle, which turned easily. The door swung open.

On the other side was a closet. It contained decaying children’s clothes and a pile of rot and mold that was once a collection of stuffed toys. There was nothing else.

Heather stared...of course. She remembered. Alessa’s real room had had only one exit. In the chapel, this door had led to the impossible inner sanctum where she had finally confronted Claudia...but here it was just a child’s closet.

Behind her came a harsh, hissing gurgle. A painful, convulsing sound that was barely recognizable as laughter.

“Looking for something?” The voice was warped and ragged, drawn from a damaged throat.

Heather turned around to see Alessa sprawled on the bed, laughing that horrible, rasping laugh. She still had Heather’s face but she was no longer burnt and bloody. Her skin was smooth and unnaturally pale, contrasting sharply with her pitch-black hair, lips and fingernails.

“Hello, Heather.” Alessa grinned. She was wearing the same vest and miniskirt she had before. The vest was half-unzipped to show there was no shirt beneath, only more of her pale skin. “Welcome home.”

“Fuck you!” Heather snarled and grabbed the small stool by the desk, raising it to smash Alessa in her smug face. No, not hers. It belonged to Heather, not to this dead bitch.

“None of that.” Alessa narrowed her eyes and raised a hand. The stool vanished in Heather’s hand, turning to smoke and ash. Heather just turned and grabbed a heavy wooden pencil case and spun back on Alessa, ready to bash her teeth out.

Alessa rolled her eyes as this too dissolved in Heather’s hands. Heather lunged for one of the discarded drawers but suddenly her body wouldn’t move anymore. She strained against the invisible force that seemed to hold her back and felt it yield slightly, as though she were wrapped tightly in plastic wrap. But no matter how much she trembled and strained, she couldn’t break through.

Alessa slowly walked into view and leaned down so the two were eye-to-eye. She smiled, a cruel expression. Her breathing rattled and rasped, as though her throat were still badly damaged by smoke and fire.

“I know you’re a fighter Heather, but this is ridiculous.” Alessa gestured and the drawers Heather had been lunging for disintegrated into ash as well. Heather strained harder at the skin-tight force that wrapped her body. She felt it stretch and strain and she fancied that Alessa’s forehead wrinkled slightly with an expression of pain or exertion.

“You...aren’t...going...to...take...me.” Heather managed to force the words through the binding. Alessa looked surprised to see her speak but her expression quickly changed to annoyance.

“Enough!” Alessa flung out a hand and Heather was suddenly flying through the air and slammed into the closet. The force binding her was gone, but the impact knocked the breath from her lungs and for a moment she couldn’t get to her feet. Alessa continued, “I just want to talk to you, Heather. I’m not here to fight with myself.”

Heather finally managed to catch her breath and she managed to find her footing. “You aren’t me. You’re dead. I killed you.”

“Four times if I recall.” Alessa sneered, “But we’ve died worse than that before. It doesn’t change anything.”

Heather briefly considered charging Alessa, seeing if she could surprise her or break through whatever force Alessa was using against her. But before she could launch another assault Alessa held up a hand in a placating gesture.

“Heather, we could knock each other all over this place and it wouldn’t serve any purpose. Just listen to me.”

“Why? So you can try and kill me for my own good again?”

Alessa shrugged, “It’s not like you’ve done much worthwhile with your life since then, have you? But no. We can’t let ourselves die right now. We can’t let him win.”

“Who?”

Alessa strode over to the bed and sat down. She smoothed the covers with her hand and its wet stains vanished. The rotting sheets whole once again. There was the faint smell of washing powder and incense. Nostalgic scents.

“You know who I’m talking about.”

“The man on the other side of the door.” Heather swallowed slightly at the memory of his face. “Is he from Claudia’s cult?”

“No, not really.” Alessa had an expression of distaste on her face. “He’s someone...like us. Born special. Different. Powerful.”

“Does he want…” Heather trailed off as she put her hand on her stomach, remembering the feeling of the thing that grew within her.

“No, he’s not looking to worship a god, he wants to become one. He wants to add our power to his own.”

Heather was silent for a while as this sunk in. She’d never really understood what this supposed “gift” she had been born with was. It never did her any good. Alessa waited on the bed, twirling strands of hair between her fingers.

Heather finally spoke, “Can I just...give it to him? I really don’t care anymore. If he wants it…”

Alessa gave her a withering look of contempt. “Oh you can, if you don’t mind dying. Painfully. Hollowed out, like a fucking pumpkin. Sound good to you?”

“Maybe if it were quick…” Heather said quietly. “Maybe you were right about that. Maybe it’d be better that way.”

“What about Cheryl.”

Heather stiffened, the memory of Cheryl playing across her mind. Her face, her smile. The fear on her face as she was dragged beneath the bed.

Alessa smiled wryly. “That’s what I thought.”

“Is Cheryl...is she...us?”

“She is...the part of us that remained untouched. The part I cast out. She is the girl your father thought of whenever he looked at your face.”

Heather’s legs were feeling weak and she leaned on the desk for support. “So it was just an illusion?”

Alessa shook her head. “She’s a real girl. She’s been in university for a year or so. She’s thinking of majoring in creative writing. Thinks she’ll be a writer. The idiot. Of course, none of that was true before Friday night.”

“What?”

“She popped into existence while you were sleeping Friday evening, and the world...makes room. Gives her a history.”

“This makes no fucking sense.”

“Get used to it.” Alessa gave Heather a nasty smile, smug and superior.

“Fine, why does she exist now?”

“That man has been after you for a long time now. But you’re no good to him with your powers stunted by your drugs. So he’s been waiting for an opportunity.”

Heather remembered the night before Cheryl showed up, her pills spilling down the drain. “So, he created her?”

“He...empowered her. Gave her just enough juice to manifest as her own being. So he could trap her with the Flauros.”

The name triggered a long-faded memory in Heather’s mind. “That pyramid thing?”

“Very good!” Alessa’s tone was cloying and sarcastic, like a teacher congratulating a very stupid student for finally grasping a basic idea. “And you gave it the perfect opportunity to snag her.”

Heather pushed herself back to her feet and began to pace back and forth through the small room. She wanted to punch something. To grab a length of metal and smash something to a bloody pulp. To blast something to bits. She kicked the unopened door, still firmly nailed shut.

“Then let me out of here! I’ll rescue her and rip that fucking bastard’s head off!!”

“Really?” Alessa watched, lying splayed out on the bed as Heather paced. “How was that working out for you before I brought you here?”

Heather’s burning rage guttered instantly, replaced by the cold despair that had gripped her earlier. Her knees gave out and she crouched on the floor, wrapping her arms around her legs and barely holding back tears. Her heart ached.

“Then what am I supposed to do? Why not just fucking kill me?”

“Stop it.” Alessa’s raised her voice, painfully harsh and raspy. She twisted her hand and Heather felt her head pulled around by an unseen force, forcing her to meet Alessa’s eyes. “You’re spiraling. You’re coming off a shit-ton of psych meds and you just lost a third of your soul. If you don’t keep a grip on yourself you’ll be no good to anyone.”

“Fuck you, Alessa.” Heather spat, but for whatever reason the disdain she saw in Alessa’s eyes caused her own spirit to rise, rekindling some of her defiance. The force gripping her head eased off and she could move again.

“That’s more like it. Between the two of us, we’re very, very good at anger. Anger gets shit done.” Alessa pulled herself into a sitting position, legs dangling off the edge of the bed, “But anger isn’t going to be enough. You’ve got power, just like he does, but you need to master it first.”

“I have no idea how to do that.”

Alessa grinned, teeth white against her black lips. “I could show you.”

“Is that what all this is about?” Heather regained her feet, staring angrily down at Alessa. “All this shit? If that’s what you want, just come out and say it! Show me what I need to do.”

“Not so fast.” Alessa leaned forward, her half-unzipped vest barely covering her unearthly pale breasts. “I want something first.”

“Fuck off.”

Alessa shrugged and leaned back, turning away with an unconcerned look. “Fine. I guess Cheryl gets gets turned into a spiritual fleshlight.”

Alessa peered up at Heather with glittering eyes from beneath her black bangs. Heather glared down at her. She really, really wanted to punch Alessa right now. Even it was also kind of Heather’s face as well.

“Fine...what do you want?”

Alessa grinned and spread her legs, pulling her miniskirt up her ivory thighs. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. A tuft of pitch-black pubic hair stood out starkly against her white skin and Heather was mildly surprised to see the glistening inner lips peeking out from her vulva were a healthy pink rather than the rest of her body’s deathly pallor.

“I want you to eat me out.”

Heather took a step back, “Are you shitting me?”

“Not at all.” Alessa shook her head and reached down, sliding two fingers up and down the lips of her cunt and spreading a layer of glistening wetness over them. “You were going to do it for Cheryl, weren’t you? Well, I want it too.”

Heather opened her mouth to say something but there were simply no words to express her confusion. She closed her mouth and opened it again a few times as Alessa stared at her. Alessa licked her black lips, her tongue the same shockingly lively pink as her cunt. She spread her legs wider and unzipped her miniskirt, peeling it off entirely. She let out a raspy moan as she pushed two fingers into her cunt, eyes locked with Heather’s.

“Now or never, Heather. Unless you’d rather figure this out on your own.” Alessa put her free hand underneath her vest and stroked the concealed swell of one breast.

Heather’s hands tightened into fists. “You know what? Fine. Fine. But if you’re just fucking with me I will shove my foot up your ass.”

“Oooooh.” Alessa let out a rough coo. “Promises, promises.”

Alessa removed her fingers, now glistening with her own juices, and spread her legs wider as Heather hesitantly knelt in front of the bed. Alessa unzipped the vest and shrugged it off her shoulders, revealing her pale body. It was just like Heather’s own: a bit bonier than she would have liked, breasts that were neither pleasingly petite nor impressively large, topped with small nipples and areola that were almost invisible on Alessa’s white skin.

Heather glared up at Alessa as she settled between her thighs and for a moment she could have sworn that Alessa looked just a little bit nervous. She licked her lips slightly as Heather put her hands on her legs. Heather had expected Alessa’s corpse-pale skin to be cold and clammy but she was just as soft and warm as any living person, although there was a slight smell of wood smoke as though she had been standing close to a bonfire.

“Be gentle with me,” Alessa smirked down at Heather and any empathy Heather had for her vanished again.

“Shut up and just try and come fast.” Before Alessa could respond Heather leaned in and started to lick.

She was worried that Alessa would taste or smell foul but other than the slightest hint of smoky in the air the taste of her wet pussy was surprisingly pleasant. The taste was faint, but she was a little bit tangy, salty and with a hint of sweetness like a surprisingly pleasant mixture of sweat and fruit-juice. Heather was almost relieved that she had never gotten this far with Cheryl as it quickly became clear that she had no inkling of the proper technique. She swiped roughly at Alessa’s slit with her tongue, nuzzling her face into Alessa’s pelvis as she tried to find the proper way to approach it.

When her tongue parted the lips of Alessa’s pussy Heather felt her legs tremble slightly and Alessa let out a quiet, husky sound. Heather tried again and got another tremor and a slightly louder groan of enjoyment. This seemed to be the way. She tried pressing a bit harder, flattening her tongue against Alessa and she responded by pushing forward with her hips, rubbing against Heather’s firm, wet tongue.

Despite her distaste for Alessa, Heather could feel her own body responding to the sheer eroticism of the act. She was still dressed in the pajamas she had been wearing when Cheryl vanished and she slid one hand off of Alessa’s thighs and started to rub her hand between her own legs. She let out an involuntary moan herself and the sound reverberating against Alessa’s pussy elicited another twitch of pleasure.

As Heather ran her tongue up and down between the soft folds of Alessa’s pussy she found the firm, warm nub of Alessa’s clit. Flicking it caused Alessa to shake and she began to breathe more rapidly. Heather slipped her hand under the waistband of her pajamas and found her own clit, circling it with her fingertips. She mirrored the action with the tip of her tongue, rolling it in a circular motion around Alessa’s nub. It must have felt pretty good because she could feel Alessa’s clit grow larger and firmer.

“That feels really good, Heather.” Alessa’s voice was soft, although still rough, and there was no trace of mockery or disdain. To Heather’s surprise, she lowered a hand to Heather’s head, stroking her fingers through Heather’s hair. The gesture was tender and sent a tingling thrill along Heather’s neck and made her own pussy tighten in excitement. “Don’t stop!”

Encouraged, Heather pushed her face in closer, flicking the tip of her tongue from side-to-side across the surface of Alessa’s enlarged clit. It seemed to grow slightly larger and Heather briefly wondered if hers would react the same if she was eaten out or if it just felt larger than normal with her tongue and lips wrapped around it.

“Make me come, Heather!” Alessa’s legs were jerking with each movement of Heather’s tongue and she was making tiny thrusting motions with her hips as she made small, eager noises deep in her chest. She put her other hand on the back of Heather’s neck, gently pulling her head close between her legs.

Heather remembered something a lesbian friend had told her once and she retracted her tongue slightly to close her lips around Alessa’s swollen clit and sucked on it like a lollipop. Alessa threw her head back and let out a rough, throaty moan of absolute bliss, her pale breasts heaving and her stomach trembling from waves of sensation.

Suddenly, the hand in Heather’s hair tightened and the hand behind her neck pushed her face harder against Alessa’s pussy, forcing her mouth open wider. Heather managed to look up at Alessa to see her grinning wickedly down at her.

“Oh Heather,” Alessa moaned, “Oh I tried to be a good girl. I tried so hard. But I guess mom was right...I’m just a little bitch.”

Before Heather could react Alessa’s clit grew firmer and larger, swelling and stretching rapidly, filling Heather’s mouth entirely. Heather pulled back and found it was growing still, growing into a shiny, wet cock emerging from between the lips of Alessa’s pussy. Heather pulled her mouth away, out of breath and panting from her exertions. Alessa’s cock was pointing right at her face, twitching and glistening.

With impressive strength Alessa pulled Heather’s head forward, forcing her cock between Heather’s lips. She was thrusting her hips in earnest now, fucking Heather’s mouth with this obscene, unnatural member. Alessa bit her lips and groaned in wicked glee as Heather struggled to break free.

Heather pulled her hand out of her pants and tried to push herself away, to fight back against Alessa’s thrusting cock, but she found herself bound again by that invisible force. It felt like she was once again wrapped in layer upon layer of plastic and tape, just yielding enough to struggle but far too strong to break free.

“You’re not going anywhere, Heather.” Alessa gloated, “You kept me locked up in the cesspits of your soul for over twenty years, I think I’ve earned a bit of fun.”

Helpless, she could only kneel in front of Alessa as her mouth was fucked. The cock was still growing. It already felt huge, bigger than any of the ridiculous, viagra-fueled dicks she’d seen in porn. Alessa pushed it deeper and deeper, forcing Heather’s mouth wide enough to make her jaw ache and she could barely breathe as its fat tip pushed against the back of her throat.

“Fuck! Fuck I’m almost there!”

Alessa leaned as far forward as she could, pushing her cock deep into Heather’s throat as it twitched and pulsed against her tongue. There was a sudden rush of hot liquid, splashing against the back of Heather’s tongue and throat. Alessa trembled in ecstasy, Heather’s face crammed against her pubic hair.

Alessa’s sudden violation had left Heather too shocked and confused to respond properly, but as she involuntarily gulped down the last dregs of Alessa’s cum rage ignited in her heart. She felt vigor and strength flood her body and she pushed against the tight, binding force around her and with a sudden snap of release, it was gone. She yanked the still-hard cock from her mouth and surged to her feet, looming over Alessa.

Alessa just looked up at her, a husky, mocking laugh on her lips. “What’s the matter, Heather? Little girl scared of the big, bad cock?”

“Shut your face, you unbelievable bitch!”

Without thinking, Heather shoved Alessa down on the bed. Alessa’s pale breasts bounced and the grin didn’t leave her dark lips. Heather wanted to smack the smile off her smug face but somehow she felt like Alessa was expecting violence, even hoping for it. She wanted Heather to explode.

Heather looked down at her, she wasn’t making any attempt to rise or fight back. Her arms were lying relaxed at her side, her legs partially open with that bizarre, huge cock sprouting from her cunt. Heather’s own pussy ached...she hadn’t come and as much as she hated to admit it, her body reacted just as much to Alessa’s cock as it had to licking her pussy.

A sudden, perverse impulse crossed her mind. More than hurting Alessa, she wanted to surprise her. To shock her. Alessa had been acting like she knew everything and Heather was just some bumbling idiot.

With a rapid motion, Heather yanked her pajama bottoms and underwear off, baring her legs and her own wet cunt. She was immensely gratified when Alessa’s eyes went wide in surprise and confusion.

“Heather, what are you-”

Heather climbed onto the bed, grabbing both of Alessa’s arms before the other girl could react. Alessa struggled but although she shared Heather’s physique, she didn’t seem to have any of her strength and there was no sign of that strange binding force from earlier. Heather pulled both arms over Alessa’s head and pinned them in place with one hand with no real effort. She straddled Alessa’s body and pinned her torso down with her thighs.

“You like fucking people? Fine, I’ll give you exactly what you’re asking for.”

“Heather! Heather, you can’t do this right now! I won’t have enough left-”

Heather pressed one hand over Alessa’s mouth to shut her up. She began to grind her hips against Alessa’s feeling the slick length of the other girl’s cock slipping against her thighs and between her butt cheeks. She adjusted her position slightly and she could feel it rubbing up and down the lips of her cunt. Their wetness mingled and it slid easily against her swollen, eager slit. Alessa’s cock felt just as big and hard as it had before and for a moment Heather felt nervous about trying to take it but there was no way she would let Alessa see her chicken out at this point.

Heather and Alessa both convulsed when the tip of Alessa’s cock found the opening of Heather’s cunt and slid inside. Heather had never had the nerve to buy any real sex toys before and this sensation of her body opening up to the long, firm shaft was like nothing she had ever experienced. Alessa was only halfway inside her and she already felt stretched and filled like never before.

Heather began to thrust her hips, gradually pushing Alessa deeper inside her. With every inch she could feel her cunt tighten and flex around Alessa’s length, sending shockwaves of sensation through her hips and setting her body on fire with heat and desire. She didn’t really care about shocking Alessa anymore, her hips were moving of their own violation and she just wanted to come.

She let go of Alessa’s mouth and arms, the girl seemed overcome by the sensation as well and just lay there, eyes rolled back in her head and moaning weakly with every squeeze of Heather’s cunt. Her arms lay limp and her mouth tried to form words but could only gasp for air.

Heather yanked her top off and tossed it aside, toying with her nipples as she felt Alessa’s cock slide in and out of her wet cunt. She was getting close and she could feel the lips of her cunt pressed against Alessa’s own as she took the cock all the way to its base. Heather pressed one hand down against her clit, pushing it against the hard, hot length of Alessa’s cock.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the two of them came simultaneously. Heather shuddered and jerked as her cunt gripped Alessa’s cock tightly while it shot thick, hot jets of cum inside of her. The entire room seemed to shake with the force of the orgasm and Alessa let out of a rough-throated cry of pleasure which was cut off as Heather leaned forward and smothered her with her lips, shoving her tongue into Alessa’s mouth. She hadn’t been planning to kiss Alessa but it felt amazing as their hips spasmed against one another, still joined by Alessa’s cock.

As Heather’s breathing steadied and the waves of pleasure faded, she realized that the room wasn’t shaking due to the orgasm. It was just shaking. The walls trembled, rattling the butterfly display cases in their frames and causing one of the dressers to bang rhythmically against the walls. The door that had previously been nailed shut was groaning with a sound of tortured wood and metal.

“I...I…” Alessa was panting, exhausted and barely able to speak through her ruined throat, “I...tried to tell you…”

Suddenly the nails holding the planks to the door started to work their way free as thick, black liquid pushed them from their holes. One by one they fell to the floor, followed by the planks themselves. The door warped and stretched like silly putty as something on the other side pushed against it.

Alessa weakly raised a hand but her arm dropped back on the bed. “I can’t...keep him out.”

The door shattered, transforming from warped putty to rigid, splintered wood in a second. Beyond was an infinite void of liquid darkness. The light provided by Heather’s cell phone began to flicker and fade but before the room was completely consumed in darkness Heather saw five thick, glistening tentacles whip into the room. They wrapped around her arms and waist, their skin clammy against her bare flesh.

Alessa tried to grab for her but then the room plunged into total darkness and Heather could feel herself being violently yanked into the yawning, hungry darkness.


End file.
